


feels like the first time

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: Rounds of Kink [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Car Sex, Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, First Time, Implied Fred Andrews/FP Jones II, Loss of Virginity, Pre-Canon, Safer Sex, Sex Positive, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11101113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: There's nothing like the first time.(or, on a hot summer night by the shores of Sweetwater River, after senior year comes to an end, Alice and FP find a moment of bliss.)





	feels like the first time

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for Round 30 of [Rounds of Kink!](http://rounds-of-kink.livejournal.com/) The prompt that I claimed was " _Any, Any, Virginity, Nothing like the first time._ " Additionally, I'm submitting this as a fill for the following prompt on the Riverdale Kink Meme: _Alice/FP, Young Alice and FP, a furtive hookup between two teenage serpents._
> 
> This takes place just after the end of senior year, and all characters are eighteen. title borrowed from the [song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Tl-kOcnn1U) by Foreigner. 
> 
> In some ways, if you squint, this is a companion piece to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10859571) Alice/FP/Fred story I posted awhile ago.

As summer nights go, Alice would be hard-pressed to think of one so picture-perfect. 

Far above her, the moon and stars are out in full bloom, lighting up the sky through the gaps in the canopy of trees stretching overhead. She can hear Sweetwater River flowing a few yards away, burbling against the shore, occasionally splashing as some animal breaks the surface. Some of the day's oppressive heat has finally melted away, and there’s just enough of a breeze to keep the bugs from congregating. 

Normally, Alice would only be able to appreciate such a night by proxy, through the conversations of the patrons of the White Wyrm, where she’s been tending bar since school let out, getting paid under the table and hiding in the back on the rare occasion that one of Riverdale’s finest officers of the law decides to stop in. It seems that every night she has off is miserable; it’s either pouring rain or too hot to breathe. 

But this night is perfect, and she has no plans on letting it slip through her fingers. She’s been biding her time long enough. 

Without turning her head, she can feel FP’s eyes on her, gaze as heavy and obvious as the sound of his work boots hitting the ground. Said boots are abandoned for the time being, kicked off towards the end of the bed of his father’s truck. He’s stripped down to a pair of loose jeans riddled with holes and a shirt that may have been crisp and white a dozen washes ago. Smoke is drifting from the cigarette in his hand, unfurling toward the star-strewn sky like a scarf caught in the wind. Even though he’s been done work for hours and his hair is still a little damp from the shower he took before picking her up, Alice can still smell a hint of sweat on him from a day of toiling out in the sun. 

“Sure you don’t want a drag?” he asks, waving the cigarette in her general direction. 

“I’m fine.” It’s not a habit she particularly minds, but it’s not one she ever picked up for herself. 

“Suit yourself.” He takes one last drag and pitches it over the side of the truck. The moment that she feels his dark eyes fall back on her, she turns her head and looks at him properly for the first time since they climbed into the back of the truck. 

She’s fairly certain that she should be feeling some sort of awkwardness, should be trying to make conversation to extend the moment out, to cover up the real reason that they’re both here. She could try playing oblivious or coy, act like she doesn’t know exactly what FP’s been thinking since she proposed spending some alone time down by the river, where the chances of them being overheard or caught by their parents are negligible. 

But that just sounds like a damn waste of time. Despite all the stories she’s overheard at school, passed around in the back of classrooms or in the locker room, the whispers about how sex had been so _awkward_ and painful, Alice still wants it. She's been wanting it for months, has only waited because the timing never seemed right, because there was always someone on the other side of a very thin wall or someone parked in the very next space at the drive-in. 

She’s not a prude but, for her first time at least, she doesn’t much care to have an audience of any kind. 

“What’re you staring at, girlie?” FP asks, mouth twisting into a fusion of smile and smirk. Alice rolls her eyes and kicks him, lightly, in the shin. 

“The only thing worth staring at out here,” she replies, sliding a little closer. The movement reveals a slight stiffness in her back, and she wishes that they had another blanket (or three) to put down underneath them, but all things considered, it’s still more comfortable than the mattress in FP’s shoe-box of a bedroom, which somehow manages to simultaneously lack any kind of support while also being as lumpy as the shore of Sweetwater River. 

“You telling me that the stars aren’t worth staring at?” he retorts, waving his hand up at the sky. “C’mon. How many nights like this have you seen?” His voice is teasing, but he’s actually smiling now, genuine, in a way Alice has only ever seen directed at one other person, and she wishes that she could photograph this moment, tuck it in her wallet and keep it until it’s faded and cracked from being handled so many times. 

“Not enough,” Alice admits. "But I can stare at them later." With that, she makes her move. She levers herself up and over until she’s straddling FP’s hips, the side of the truck pressing against her knee. His hands immediately move; they smooth up her thighs to her hips, bunch up in the hem of her oversized shirt, stolen from the lost and found bin at the bar one night where some drunken asshole had spilled an entire bottle of warm beer on her. One of his calloused fingertips brushes against her hip, and it feels like a spark flaring into life underneath her skin. 

“You wanna do this?” he asks, tongue skirting across his bottom lip. "You sure?" She’s never been more glad for his tendency to speak plainly, to avoid beating around the bush unless the situation absolutely calls for it. She nods and drops her hands to rest on top of his, presses them harder against her stomach, until she can feel the thick callouses on his palm scratching against her. 

“I brought condoms. Don’t know if they’ll fit.” She’d stolen them one early morning from the top drawer of her father’s nightstand when both of her parents were occupied, just before she headed to bed to sleep the day away. FP laughs and presses his thumb into the divot of her navel. 

“Thought by now you’d have some idea of what size I am,” he remarks, and she rolls her eyes again. 

“Shut up.” She’s had her fingers and mouth wrapped around him more times than she can count, but that doesn’t exactly mean she can estimate what condom size he is. For all she knows, the sizing for them is as arbitrary and absurd as it is for clothing, and she’s not likely to get a useful answer out of any of her friends. 

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” he continues, pushing her shirt up a little higher, until the bottom of her rib cage is exposed to the night air. “I brought some. But I appreciate you thinkin’ of it all the same.”

“I’m sure you’ll run out at some point,” she comments, impatiently yanking her shirt away from his hands and pulling it fully over her head. She’d forgone a bra when she’d gotten dressed, and the slight breeze immediately pebbles her nipples. Trying not to shiver, she stares down at him with her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, the challenge silent but clear as day. 

_Your move._

“Here’s hoping so,” he says, and he sounds damn near _breathless_ as he slides one hand up her chest, just barely skims over her breast, and curls his fingers around her shoulder, tugging her down to his mouth.

Her back only gets a relief from the hard surface of the truck bed for a few moments; eventually, FP’s hands slide around her hips and in a flurry of movement, he flips them over until he’s hovering between her legs, loose strands of hair falling into his face. Before he can lean back in and kiss her again, she yanks his shirt up his chest, until it’s bunched around his ribs. He takes it from there, sits up just long enough to roughly tug it over his head and throw it over the edge of the truck and into the darkness. 

“Now we’re even,” he grins, swooping back down to her mouth again. He’s not always so impatient to kiss her; when they’re both so tired that they can barely keep their eyes open, when he’s coming down from an orgasm, he slows down, kisses her deep like she’s the only thing keeping him with his feet flat on the ground-

(even though they both know that isn’t the case)

-but the time for that tonight has passed. Instead, it feels like he’s trying to consume her, like he’s one of the serpents stitched onto dozens of jackets across the south side of town. 

But he isn’t the only serpent here, and if there’s one thing Alice knows how to do, it’s give as good as she gets. 

The more time they spend kissing, the warmer she grows, with the epicenter of the heat between her legs, stoked every time the seam of her tight jeans presses against her. FP is pressed against her, cock hard enough for Alice to wonder if it’s painful. However, when she eventually drops her hand down to palm at the front of his jeans, the sound he makes is anything but pained, and with that in mind, she keeps going. She’s had enough practice that taking care of his belt buckle and zipper is easy enough with one hand, and when she grips him with that same hand, he drops his forehead against hers. 

“Fuck, Alice,” he groans, fingers tightening on the curve of her hip. However, before she can begin to establish a rhythm with her hand, he gently pries her fingers away and presses them to the truck bed. He doesn’t bother to tuck his cock back in, but if he doesn’t care about the slightly absurd sight of it bobbing free, she has no plans on complaining. 

“What are you doing?” she asks instead.

“Well,” he starts, large fingers fumbling slightly with the button of her jeans, “if what the guys say is right, then I think making sure you’re doin’ alright is more important than me.” He peels her jeans off, balls them into a heap and tosses them aside. That’s the only preamble she has before he tugs her underwear to the side and presses two of his fingers flat against where she’s slick and burning up. A long, low whistle falls from his mouth, and it’s so shameless that she slaps at his arm, albeit halfheartedly. 

“I’d say you’re doin’ alright,” he murmurs idly, fingertips lightly skirting over her clit. “But I think we can still do better.” With that, he easily slides one finger into her heat, and her nails scratch against the blanket underneath her as she gasps. A second finger follows soon afterward, bringing with it a hint of a stretch that’s still on the right side of pleasure. Her legs splay open a little further, and when the cool night breeze brushes over her bare skin like a phantom pair of fingers, more heat spikes through her, tinged with just the barest hint of shame. If anyone came along right now, there would be no hiding underneath blankets, no covering up what they’re doing. She’s laid completely bare, exposed entirely. 

She thinks that should make her feel more than just a tinge of shame.

FP’s fingers aren’t gentle, but they certainly aren’t rough either; they don’t probe around uselessly, don’t stab into her like a fork into a steak, unlike some of the other boys she fooled around with before FP became an irreplaceable part of her life. With some guidance from her, demands and requests gasped out into the night air, he finds the perfect pace. His fingers curl and press upward over and over again, and she can feel herself growing wetter and wetter, until the inside of her thighs is slick with it, until she can _hear_ his fingers pressing into and sliding out of her, obscenely loud and filthy. 

She wonders how many of the girls she’s overheard discussing lackluster first times at schools had boys do this to them beforehand. 

She wonders how many of them would have different stories if that was the case. 

It would be all too easy for her to come; all she’d have to do is circle her fingers around her clit a few times, or maybe have FP press his tongue against her. But she doesn’t want to tip over the edge quite yet; she’s all too familiar with how it feels to have her cunt clench down around FP’s fingers, but his cock will be a brand new experience, and while she knows there's a chance that she won’t come, that the pain and discomfort will simply too be much, she’ll be damned if she gives up without trying. 

“Stop,” she manages to pant, hips continuing to arch up into FP’s fingers even as she swats at his shoulder. “FP, _stop._ ” 

“You sure?” he asks, dipping his head to press his mouth just underneath her navel. His fingers curl a little harder, and in response, she hits his shoulder harder, even though the movement makes her toes curl. 

“Yes, I’m sure, you asshole. Where are your damn condoms?” With one final kiss to her stomach, he sits up on his knees and thrusts one hand into the pocket of his jeans. After a second, a square, foil packet lands on her hip. 

“Hold that for a second.”

“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice,” she responds, picking the condom up and pinching it lightly. She didn’t expect it to weigh much, but it’s as light as a feather, and it’s hard to believe that something so small can protect them from so much. 

While FP yanks his remaining clothes off without a hint of finesse, Alice tugs her underwear down and flicks it away with her toe. She lets her free hand delve down between her legs, and even though she knows that she’s wet, she’s still surprised at just _how_ wet. 

“Thought you said you didn’t wanna come,” FP says, arching an eyebrow at her as he lays down beside her. His cock is still very hard, curved towards his stomach, and Alice tosses the condom at his face so that she can curl her fingers around it again. 

“I don’t,” she replies, running her thumb over the head. “But I’m getting impatient.” 

“You’re _always_ impatient,” FP mutters, head thudding back against the truck bed as his fingers tear at the condom packaging. 

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.” She strokes him once before she pulls away again, so that he can roll the condom down himself. Once it’s done, she expects him to climb back on top of her but instead, he settles back down, one arm tucked underneath his head, looking so effortlessly casual that she knows it's a deliberately chosen position. Before she can ask, he reaches out with his other hand and tugs her over by the hip. 

“S’better if you’re on top the first time. So I heard,” he says. “Hurts less if you're in control.” 

“Sounds like you’ve been asking half the damn town for advice,” she retorts, although she’s far from bothered; the less pain she experiences, the better, regardless of what people say about bloodied sheets being a badge of honor, how the first time is _supposed_ to hurt.

“Yeah, well,” he responds, sentence trailing off as she tries to situate herself. The truck bed is hard underneath her knees, and she’s fairly certain that she’ll have matching bruises come tomorrow, if she stays on top for any length of time. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, but letting them hang loosely at her sides seems like the most awkward option, so she leans forward slightly and plants them on FP’s chest, on muscle firmed from working construction twelve hours a day.

“Ready?” he asks. One of his hands is between her legs, wrapped around himself, and she can feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against her.

She doesn’t bother to give him an answer. Instead, she simply takes a deep breath and presses her hips down, welcomes him in. 

Her own gasp is so loud that she can’t hear his; only the movement of his lips tells her that he made a sound at all. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly; it’s more uncomfortable than anything, a little wince-worthy, but nothing that she can’t take. She takes time to breathe as she slowly takes more of him in. One of his hands is wrapped around her thigh tight, fingers dimpling into her flesh. When the stretch increases a little, she digs her nails into his chest, and the groan he lets out is almost shockingly loud. 

“ _Alice_ ,” he says. She’s sure he doesn’t mean to do it, but his hips lift slightly, and he presses further into her. “Hope you weren’t planning on this lasting long.” 

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” she replies, voice so breathy that she barely recognizes it, as her hips finally settle fully down onto his. But now that it’s been brought up, she doesn’t much mind if things are over sooner rather than later. 

After all, there will hopefully be plenty of chances for them in the future to perfect their technique. 

She raises her hips experimentally; the stretch is still present, but it’s bearable. Spreading her legs a little further, until her knees aren’t pressed so tightly against his hips, she rises again and again, a little further each time, until only the head of him is still inside of her. When she lowers herself back down, quicker than she originally planned, he nearly chokes on her name. 

Once she starts moving in earnest, it really becomes clear that FP isn’t going to last long. His hips arch to meet hers, and he throws his head back and closes his eyes. Alice knows that he’ll get her off afterwards if need be, but she still wants to try, so she slides one hand away from his chest to her clit, which is still very much swollen with arousal. She wastes no time in teasing herself; her fingers fall into a pace that would be near relentless any other time. 

The moment definitely isn’t lacking in awkwardness; the closer she gets, the sweatier the palm still braced on FP’s chest gets, and there’s a few moments where she loses her rhythm when she slips and nearly falls. When he thrusts into her at a slightly different angle, pain stabs through her, and she nearly yelps. 

But in the end, despite those setbacks, she still comes around his cock. The muscles in her thighs burn from overexertion even as they convulse through her orgasm, and it’s such a foreign combination that she isn’t sure if it’s actually pleasurable or not. When her fingers accidentally skim over her clit again, her hips jerk roughly, and with that, FP groans loudly and tightens his hands on her thighs, grasps her until it nearly hurts, until she’s certain that his palm prints will be pressed into her skin for days to come. 

She waits until he’s softened to raise herself off him. Once he’s slipped out, she lays down at his side, still trying to regain her breath. While he peels off the condom and tosses it over the side of the truck, she takes stock of how the various parts of her body feel. Her thighs are the worst by far, followed closely by her knees. The inside of her legs is still slick, and she wouldn’t mind having a shower sometime soon to wash away it and the clammy sweat clinging to the rest of her. There’s a slight ache between her legs, but it’s definitely nothing unbearable, nowhere near the level that she was told to expect. 

“You alright?” FP asks, glancing over at her. His hair has fallen into his eyes and she pushes it away, rakes her fingers along his scalp. 

“We’re doing that on a bed next time,” she answers, leaning over to kiss him, breasts pushing into his side. “My knees hurt.” 

She can’t see FP’s mouth, but she feels it curve into a smirk against hers. 

“Darling, here on out, we can do it wherever the hell you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
